


69. Eating the Blame

by cognomen, MayGlenn



Series: In The Hands of Destiny [5]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: And gets what he deserves, But some Porn too, Chirrut is a little shit, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP: Politics Without Porn, Politics, Pre-Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognomen/pseuds/cognomen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: Baze could see how stiff Chirrut was from scrubbing the flagstones for three days, and he reached out, scooting closer, to rub his sore shoulders and the back of his neck. “Was this supposed to be one of those things you learn a deeper lesson from?”"I'm pretty sure this was just to make Master Sidhava feel better. Or else I missed the lesson. I've enjoyed the past three days, but if I'm a little sore, I might remember to obey my betters next time. Maybe," he laughed.“Are you sure you weren’t supposed to learn something like ‘every stone is unique’ or ‘the only true happiness is an empty mind and active hands'?”"There, you see, you're all ready to be a Guardian, pulling cryptic-sounding advice out of your ass like that," Chirrut beamed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As we wrap up our Spiritassassin week daily posting, we're going to go back to a once-weekly posting schedule. If you're following the series, please note the rating change!
> 
> If you're just joining us, we hope you'll go back and read the rest of the series, but it's not necessary. Hope you enjoy the series, and that you'll leave a comment telling us what you liked or what we can improve.

True to his word, Sidhava gave Chirrut a toothbrush with which to do his penitence. It was, at least, a new one. The efforts took him several days, during which Baze sat patiently and directed him to the worst spots, as he learned the feel of every single flag stone under his fingertips and discovered how rough they really were.

On the first day, Imperials tracked dirt through the middle of the room and their shouted conversation with Sidhava and the other two Masters carried out. Threats were exchanged—they are empty; if the Imperials intended to raid and empty the temple they would have come in much greater force. The negotiations ended in anger, and the Captain in charge of the mines stomped back out over a part of the floor that Chirrut had already cleaned.

Sidhava’s step was very tired when he left that night, and he pointed a finger at Baze in passing.

“You are not allowed to lift a finger to help him,” Sidhava said sharply, and Baze, mouth full of noodles, could only nod obediently.

The second day, the Imperials came again. Higher ranking. Cleaner boots. Chirrut still had to scrub the stripe in the center of the floor they walked over a third time, slowing his progress. This time, they negotiate. The tones from the Master’s chamber are lower, wheedling, bargaining. It becomes apparent that Sidhava, with the information that Chirrut brought him, holds the advantage of something truly damaging to Imperial control. The results are not ideal for either side, he sensed. Baze pointed out a missed boot-print, and dripped sauce from his chopsticks.

Sidhava scolded him for wiping it up on his way past, and Baze secretly smuggled Chirrut a fresh toothbrush.

On the third day, when Chirrut was finishing the last corners (and the stripe in the middle where the Imperials marched through again), the Masters were obliged to sign a contract, which would bind both them and the Empire. It means those seeking sanctuary are free to go, having been found not-guilty; and the Empire will pay their fares home, wherever they choose to go, as compensation for wrongful imprisonment.

It also means Jedha will fill with Stormtroopers and real Imperial workers, to take over the functions of the mine.

It is both satisfactory and dissatisfactory. The Imperial General at last seems to notice the two occupied bodies in the room as he leaves, and scolds his men to go around the freshly washed floor. It left a new stripe in a different place for Chirrut to scrub.

Chirrut was glad for the task, actually. He generally appreciated hard work, and it hardly seemed like work at all with Baze there—and, of course, he could _hear_ most of what passed between the Masters and the Imperial officers.

It wasn't long, each day, before Sidhava had them on the defensive, asking them if they really knew they were contracting slavers, not prison-guards, and if they _really_ wanted to make public that they had employed slavers, whether they "knew" or not.

Chirrut was relieved and— _honored_ —that his own name had never once come up, and though he got the impression that Sidhava was sticking to his guns on the basis of his own authority to punish and dismiss his own monks, and not necessarily to protect him specifically, it was still nice to be defended like that.

Although, there was kind of only one blind monk in the entire Temple, so.

When he stretched and straightened on the end of the third day, Chirrut turned his head, trying to locate Baze. "How is it? Gleaming enough?"

If people would stay off it for a night, the shine might cure and even last. His second toothbrush was down to a nub, and his back and knees ached, but he was proud of his work. Prouder still, if Baze gave it his approval.

Baze, knowing full well how long and how hard Chirrut had worked at his efforts, tried to give it as critical an eye as possible. He knows that being permissive won’t really do Chirrut any favors. So he went over the floor carefully, but when he leaned over from his place in the doorway (he hadn’t entered the room today so that Chirrut would not have to erase his steps), he could see his own reflection in the floor.

“Too gleaming,” he said, making a face at his own reflection— _When had he gotten so skinny?_ But at least the cut was healing under his eye, and he was clean. It was a start. “I don’t think anyone could find fault here. How do we keep everyone else off of it until we can get Master Sidhava to look at it?”

He could see how stiff Chirrut was, and he reached out, scooting closer, to rub his sore shoulders and the back of his neck. “Was this supposed to be one of those things you learn a deeper lesson from?”

"I'm pretty sure this was just to make Master Sidhava feel better. Or else I missed the lesson. I've enjoyed the past three days, but if I'm a little sore, I might remember to obey my betters next time. Maybe," he laughed, and put an arm around Baze. "Well, how about let's head to the refectory and work on fattening you up?"

“You could use a meal, too, after all that scrubbing,” Baze said, sounding amused. “Are you sure you weren’t supposed to learn something like ‘every stone is unique’ or ‘the only true happiness is an empty mind and active hands?”

"There, you see, you're all ready to be a Guardian, pulling cryptic-sounding advice out of your ass like that," Chirrut beamed.

“I’d be terrible at it," Baze said as he went along anyway, hoping that Master Sidhava would get to see the floor before it was trampled on again, and he kept his arm around Chirrut in return, supporting him.

“I’m glad that most of them will get to go home,” Baze continued, as they entered the refectory and saw it filled practically front to back with the recovering miners. No longer slaves but free again. It seemed momentous, to see them all slowly unfolding from their terrible experiences and back into themselves again.

"What do they look like?" Chirrut asked, smiling up towards Baze's voice.

Surprised by the question, Baze looked out over the room, considering. They looked like all kinds of things. Small and tall, fair skinned and dark-skinned, and all the shades in between. Mostly human, but some not. There was no way to describe them all at once, anyway.

“The man who had the broken leg is sitting with a cast on and smiling, laughing at something someone told him. Kai is sitting by herself, she looks distant and tired. Several of the groups that were once held together by chains are now sitting together, just talking.” After a moment, he decided: “They look relieved. Is that what you wanted? I suppose it doesn’t matter to you who’s blonde and who’s brunette.... Though several of them are better-looking than me, if you’re shopping around.”

“Shopping around," Chirrut repeated, and tapped his stick on the stones. His smile stretched until he laughed, considering a comeback for that, but he found himself just laughing it out.

"Relieved is good," Chirrut said, and then fell quiet, a distant and almost wistful smile on his face. "Thank you, Baze."

“Of course,” Baze assured Chirrut, glad that his joke had hit the mark and made Chirrut laugh—it was such an open, endearing sound. He held nothing back, and out of the parts Baze had missed, that was definitely one of them.

"Now: where's the end of the line?" Chirrut asked, sheepishly. He was tired, and didn't want to sort through the signs of the room to map it.

They made their way through the line for food, Chirrut bowing in gratitude at the young acolytes who were on kitchen duties. "Can we sit with Kai? Is her boy with her?"

“I think we could,” Baze said, tucking his arm through Chirrut’s without disrupting his tray. “Her boy isn’t here, I think he’s still in the infirmary. Alussa’s sure he’ll be okay, but—hard for a mother to believe that while the time is passing.”

Chirrut nodded. "We should go visit my mother, someday. You'd like her. She'd like you, too," he concluded, and when Baze stopped them he smiled.

“Even my own mother didn’t like me,” Baze said, his tone light enough that it could fly as the joke it was intended for.

"Kai? May we sit with you?"

There was the sound of hasty scrambling. "Oh, of course, Master Chirrut! Please, let me help you," she said, and Chirrut allowed her to take his bowl for him and help him sit only because the poor woman had no one to mother, and he understood the type (he felt it in himself sometimes).

"Thank you! How are you feeling today? You look beautiful, as always, or so my friend Baze here tells me," he said with a wink.

Baze, obligated, played along with a smile.

Kai looked back and forth between them, still not fully certain of what she was supposed to know about their relationship. She knew Baze had been in the mines; she knew Chirrut was one of the Guardians.The rest of the picture was a little unclear.

“Um, thank you?” she said, not sure whether she should look at Baze or Chirrut.

Baze set his tray across from her to let Chirrut sit next to her.  “Have you had enough to eat? Have you been sleeping alright?”

“Of course,” she said, looking down at her half full tray guiltily. She picked up her fork. “Alussa—uh, Sister Alussa—let me sleep in the infirmary to keep an eye on Vix, but he hasn’t woken up yet.”

"Of course he hasn't. He's in a warm bed for the first time in too long. And now that he's no longer in the mines he knows: 'Ah! Mother! She's going to give me chores! Make me do lessons! Better pretend to be sick longer so I can stay in bed all day!'" Chirrut ended his impression with a laugh. "It is a very old trick, and I only know, because it's my favorite trick."

Kai laughed, perhaps more politely than anything, but she laughed.

"Baze, too. You know how we met?"

"No. Tell me."

"I saved him from nearly freezing to death in an alleyway just outside! I brought him into the Temple and he slept for days. Eventually, I got fed up, you know, he's big, he takes up a lot of space! So I said, 'Baze Malbus, I'm onto your tricks! Wake up!' And he woke up and said, 'Well I wasn't sure how else I could get into your bed,' and we've been in love ever since."

It was so absurd and oddly cute, that this story got a real laugh out of Kai and something of a snort from Baze.

“I was bigger then,” he confided, around eating his dinner as if it were his only purpose in life.

"So, anyway, if you finish your supper, we'll go with you to see Vix, and if you like, we can pray over him, though I'm sure he needs sleep more than prayers," Chirrut told her.

“Don’t worry, Alussa is very good,” Baze put in. “She’ll have you on your way home to whoever you’re missing—”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he senses it instantly by the way her face changes.

“I’m sorry,” Baze said, feeling a bit lost. “What is it?”

“His father—he died when the slavers came,” she confessed. “I’m not sure where we should go after this.”   

Chirrut reached for her: let her take his hand.

"It's okay. Baze doesn't know where he's going, either," he said with a wry huff, and then grew serious. "But you and your son will be welcome here as long as you like."

He heard her sniffle. "Thank you," she said wetly.

"Don't thank me. I know Vix won't. He might have to do some chores and learn some lessons..."

Kai laughed again, and Chirrut liked the sound.

Baze smiled at his efforts, feeling better _for_ her instantly. Her outlook had changed over the past few days, a transition he wasn’t unfamiliar with. He found a clean napkin for her to dry her eyes with, and offered it to her.

“Chirrut will talk you into staying if you’re not careful,” Baze said, warmly. “He’s nearly got me on the line.”

"Excuse you, 'nearly'?" Chirrut said, and laughed, but he squeezed Baze's hand a little harder than he meant to.

“You knew each other before Brother Chirrut came to rescue us, then? How’d you get wrapped up in all this? With us?” she asked Baze.

“I was away,” Baze said. “Exploring the galaxy. Ultimately a bad decision.”

"I mean, I can't _protect_ you if you're not here," Chirrut explained, and then leaned in to Kai. "He left me for _ten years_ , can you believe that?."

Kai drew back, shocked.

“If I’d left you for ten years we’d both have been spotty teenagers when we last saw each other,” Baze said, blandly, refusing to rise to the provocation. “And don’t say you can’t tell the difference.”

To Kai, he corrected, carefully. “I’ve been gone only about a year. Don’t let his earnest face fool you.”

"Well," Chirrut said. "It _felt_ like ten years."

Kai scoffed, and then giggled. She could already tell that Chirrut had Baze wrapped around his finger—whether or not either of them had realized it. "Oho, Baze, you better watch out with this one," she advised.

“I have to,” Baze continued, deadpan. “He can’t do it.”

Chirrut laughed, and Kai laughed at this, too, and she was surprised when she scraped the bottom of her bowl. "Can we go to the Infirmary now?"

 _There_ , Baze thought, satisfied: she’d eaten enough to sustain herself and all they had to do was distract her a little. He finished his own broth, and set the bowl back down, nodding. “If Chirrut can stop being dramatic long enough to finish his dinner, I’m ready to go. I’ll take your plate back, alright?”

"Oh, I'm sorry, I get so distracted," Chirrut said, shoveling food into his mouth.

Baze took their dirty plates back to the kitchen to put them into the soapy water where they belonged, giving the acolytes working to furiously scrub them an encouraging pat for their good work—they were earnest kids, after all.

"Master Baze," said a small voice, tugging on his robe. "Is it true you and Master Chirrut kissed? I told Teenu but he says it's not true."

Baze wondered if he was supposed to be encouraging such gossip in acolytes of an order where such behavior was not necessarily considered devout...but the two sets of eyes looking at him were so very earnest and so very attentive that he felt so on the spot his only option was the truth.

Tiny children, his one weakness. _At least_ , he thought, _it wasn’t bullets_.

“It’s true,” he said. “You can tell Teenu it is. And then you can both mind your own business.”

He kept his tone from being unkind, however, and the boy smiled at him, broadly, showing gaps where his adult teeth were coming in. Victoriously.

When Baze returned, Chirrut and Kai were talking amicably.

"Baze, did you know that Vix is actually quite the accomplished baker? When he is better, Kai has promised us _cinnamon rolls_." Chirrut helped Kai to her feet. "He's going to be very cross with you for making this promise for him."

"Oh, no! He loves baking. He really does. He'll be so happy to do it," Kai explained as they made their way to the Infirmary, out of which Alussa burst.

"Oh! Kai! Chirrut! Baze!" she said, and, though Chirrut didn't see, she gave him an extra queer stare. "I was just about to come get you. Vix just woke up and asked for you."

Kai pushed past both of them to rush inside to re-unite with her son, and Baze reached out to take Chirrut’s hand, squeezing it at his side.

“I knew he was going to be okay,” Alussa said, firmly.

“Of course,” Baze assured her. “You saved my patched-up hide, a boy with bad lungs is easy after that.”

She gave him a brief glance, and then seemed to realize his new injury, reaching for his face. “You look like you have some new holes to patch.”

“Chirrut’s been taking care of me,” Baze said, as she looked over the injury on his face. “There are others who are worse.”

Alussa made a noise that suggested she wasn’t so sure, turning her next question to Chirrut. “Is this the only mark on him?”

"Well, I haven't made as _thorough_ a search of him as I would like..." Chirrut said, and both Alussa's and Baze's sighs were audible. "Oh come on, you _gave_ me that one!" he protested, but they weren't having it.

Chirrut sighed, grumpy that either Baze wasn’t taking care of himself or Alussa didn’t think he could take care of his own soulmate. "I think it's the worst of them, yes. I was putting salve on it. Does it look infected? It didn't feel infected. Ask him, he’s an adult."

"Calm down, Chirrut," Alussa snapped. "He's insufferable, honestly, you do Nan-in and I a favor, Baze. But I do want you to come in here, and I want to flush it properly. What _happened_? It's an odd wound."

She led them past the happy mother and child to another bed, where she bid Baze sit so she could look at his eye.

"He's at least partially sufferable," Baze allowed, letting Alussa lead him into the infirmary and sit him on the bed, despite Chirrut's anxious hovering.

"I got into a fight with a man who had a vibro-whip," Baze explained, calm, as Alussa examined his face and then got out the kit to flush the wound. "I was unarmed. In retrospect, a bad decision."

"Well, not telling your blind boyfriend or a healer about it was also kind of a bad decision, so this is going to hurt," she said, handing him a bowl and leaning him forward to flush it out while Chirrut continued to hover.

"Luss? Alussa, is he gonna be okay?"

"Oh, he's fine. I assume it makes no difference to you whether he loses a nose or an eye?"

" _Actually_ ," Chirrut began, but he could tell she was teasing, so he did, too. "I mean, just because I can’t see him, doesn’t mean I want to be embarrassed _to be seen_ with him."

"It's on my face, I think telling someone about it is redundant," Baze said, in his defense, but he sat steady and patient while Alussa did her work. "There were some on my back, too, but I think they have mostly scarred over."

Alussa made a frustrated noise and peered down Baze's collar, examining the new map of scars over the old ones. She sighed, but they were mostly healed and there was nothing for it but to let the job finish on its own.

"Does it feel tight or painful when you move?" she asked, letting him sit up and deciding that the mark on his face looked about as well as could be expected.

"It did for a while when I started mining," Baze said. "It seems to have passed."

"Okay, well, I want you to keep a bandage over this one," Alussa said, covering up his eye carefully. She pressed a salve into Chirrut's hand. "Put this on his eye morning and night, and rub this into any older wounds once a day after a bath."

"Got it. Yes. Of course," Chirrut said, chewing his lip worriedly.

"He's going to be okay, Chirrut. He still might even be pretty. Let's go check on our other patient..."

"You're the monk that rescued us!" the boy said, as the group stepped over to his bed. "You carried me out!"

Chirrut smiled, reaching out to pat the boy's knee gently, teasing, "And I hear you're going to make cinnamon buns for the _whole_ Temple as a thank-you. _That’s_ the good news!"

Baze settled down next to Kai, feeling a little off-balance with one of his eyes covered.

“You look much better than when we found you,” Baze told him. “But don’t let Chirrut pressure you into baking for us before you’re up to it.”

“I’m sure I will be soon,” Vix said. “I’d really like some food that tasted good.”

“Thank you,” Kai told them both, pressing her hand to Chirrut’s and then to Baze’s—which seemed to surprise him.

“I think we can make sure you get food that’s good to eat,” Baze said. “If your doctor says you’re ready.”

Alussa smiled. "Of course. If you boys want to go fetch some soup I can allow it."

"Come on, Baze, let's go before we get old or the kid starves to death," Chirrut said, looping his arm through Baze's elbow, and once they were alone he whispered, "After this, would you go for a walk with me? I'm tired but—restless. Want to...spend time with you.”

“It would be good to get out,” Baze said, following where Chirrut led. “Just to do something—well, normal.”

But first, they delivered the soup to Kai and Vix, as well as several warm rolls and well-wishes from the other monks. With this delivered, Baze paused only to borrow an extra robe to put on over his entirely new set of borrowed clothes, to keep out the chill of the Jedha evening. Then he linked arms with Chirrut again.

“You lead the way, I’ll follow,” Baze said. “I don’t trust my depth perception.”

"The blind leading the blind. How like us," Chirrut said, leaning his head on Baze's shoulder as he tapped his way out with his staff. They made their way down the steps with Baze's hand on Chirrut's shoulder, and re-linked their arms when they were on the street level.


	2. Chapter 2

"Has the sun set yet? The city comes alive at night, though we're not _really_ supposed to be out after dark," Chirrut mused. "But what's he gonna do, make me scrub the main hall again?"

“It’s setting now,” Baze said, finding the notion that Guardians stayed in when it was dark a curious one. “The shadows are long. I can let you know when it’s set so we can go back—why aren’t you allowed out after dark?”

The city felt different today, like there was a change coming. The small heat of the afternoon had already burned off, leaving the air cool enough that their breath fogged, and Baze pulled his tunic tighter around his neck to keep the chill at bay as long as possible.

"Something about there being more temptations after dark," Chirrut said, hugging Baze close, "And, I mean, we're up at 0400 for first prayers, so, yeah, you want to be in bed around sundown. But I can think of nothing more _tempting_ after dark than sharing a bed with you."

“But—if you’re Guardians, aren’t you needed at night, too?” Baze asked, as they continued through the streets. The lights were slowly coming on—an eclectic mix of candles and electric lights, lining the narrow streets and giving the place a sort of ancient allure. Finally, Baze began to see Jedha as more than a frozen ball of sand. Then he huffed a laugh. “I need to be there to share a bed. Instead, I’m out here getting into temptation with you.”

"Well, someday you'll learn," Chirrut concluded. And then he thought about what Baze said. "I think we should be outside the Temple more, sometimes. We do our charity works but it's all very...controlled. More so now that the Empire isn't happy with us."

“Probably, when the Republic was still strong, they’d take care of the rest of the city,” Baze observed. Then he shook his head a little—he’d bet the Empire would be willing to step in and create their version of order, if the Guardians didn’t watch their step, either.

Chirrut grumbled, kicking a small stone. "We're just Guardians of the Whills, anyway. Just of the Temple. I guess that means the Holy City can go to hell? Hm, you're right. I'll use this next time I have to explain where I was after dark." 

He turned his head, listening around them, sensing how peaceful it was. "Tell me what it looks like?"

Chirrut’s request stuck Baze as something kind of difficult. People were easy to quantify beyond their basic traits, but a city?

“It looks...very old, but very alive. Our breath is leaving steam behind us.”  He struggled. “It’s made of...bricks?”

"I did know about the bricks," Chirrut said, smiling. "What about our breath? It's not that cold, is it?"

He led Baze down his usual walk, to his favorite cloth vendor. "Is there anything left on the Temple's tab to buy a nice warm cloak for my boyfriend, here? Extra big, he's gonna bulk up."

The woman behind the counter giggled and blushed. "Master Chirrut, you are not a very good monk. Master Nan-in was right. Do the children like the fox cloth?"

"Oh, they love it! I'll bring them parading by in their new finery—good advertisement."

"Well, in exchange for the advertisement, I could do a long coat." She turned to Baze. "What cut? What colors? I have a few off the rack you might like. All good warm cloth."

“I’m not picky, I’m just not used to the climate here,” Baze admitted. “Something with long sleeves. Chirrut, why don’t you pick? So you aren’t embarrassed by me.”

He led Chirrut to the rack she indicated, giving her a grateful look, and let Chirrut run his hands over the fabrics and materials. “The acolytes really do look good in their fox robes. And I think they’re proud to wear them. At least until they earn the red sash...”

“I’m always glad when Sidhava sends advance warning when a bunch will graduate together,” she said, smiling at Baze. “I know to stock up on red!”

"This one is soft. Baze needs something soft. Is the cut dashing? Is it a nice color?" He ran his hands across the shoulders, gauging size. "Is it big enough?"

Chirrut realized that now he and Baze weren't attached, he grew slightly nervous, and reached for him.

Ha! He had thought Baze might be nervous walking the streets where he'd be shot and enslaved—turned out, that was his own fear, a ridiculous one, like someone or something might try to take Baze from him again. He shook it off.

"Can he try it on?"

"Yes, of course. We have a mirror. And I have that in a larger size if—you know—if you're going to bulk up a _lot_ ," the clothier said with a wink at Baze.

“Despite his best efforts to make me fat and undesirable, I only intend to get my muscle mass back,” Baze said, in good humor. He shrugged into the jacket as Chirrut held it up for him.

“It’s a nice color,” he assured Chirrut. “Like sand on on a warm beach, lined in black.”

And, he noted with pleasure, it was very warm. He sighed as he pulled it around himself, turning the high, soft collar up against his neck. The inside was soft, comfortable, and there wasn’t anything shiny or flashy about it.

“It suits him, Master Chirrut,” the woman assured him.

“It’s easy to move in,” Baze said, more practically.

"You're _sure_ it'll be big enough?" Chirrut said dubiously, but Baze's laugh answered him. "Okay, okay, we'll take it! Do I owe you anything?"

Chirrut usually exchanged goods for his labor—most of the vendors knew the monks had taken a vow of poverty and were used to trading for work. They never dealt in prayers: prayers were free.

"Seeing the little ones in my cloth will be good enough for me—Master Sidhava overpaid this year, as usual," she offered, clasping Chirrut's hand. "Now I never caught your name, boyfriend?"

Baze made a mental note to bring her something nice; a thank you—perhaps when Vix made his cinnamon rolls he could smuggle a few out while they were still warm for her. It seemed like the right thing to do, since he was already warmer in this coat.

“I’m Baze,” he said, almost missing her hand when she offered it, his depth perception still adjusting. “I’m sure he’d be satisfied if you just accepted ‘boyfriend’, miss—?”

"Diiza!" she said, and laughed. "Boyfriend Baze. I thought the monks weren't supposed to have boyfriends. But Master Chirrut is different. Special."

Suddenly her handshake turned fierce. "You take care of him," she said almost darkly.

Chirrut laughed. "You've got that wrong, Diiza, I protect _him_ ," he said.

"Ah, but who Guards the Guardians, huh?" she said.

"Ah, well. I probably should have said 'the Force,'" Chirrut shrugged, and they were on their way. "Okay, let's get something sweet, and a new comb for you, and then head back..."

“I don’t need a comb,” Baze protested. He still had practically no hair—it would be the second time Chirrut had given him a comb with nothing to use it on.

It was fully dark now, and Baze let Chirrut lead the way, feeling comfortable and warm, now. “Diiza said you were different. And in the past, you’ve mentioned that the Guardians aren’t supposed to have boyfriends. Am I—causing some trouble for you?”

Chirrut hummed, finding the comb stall and running his hands over the wares.

"No more different than any being is from another. No more different than my—ahh, my Sight. We're not meant to be attached to any worldly things, it's true, and I struggle with that. How much? Ah, yes! The balsa wood! I will haul it myself," Chirrut promised, and bowed (he would be sure to haul double: the wood carver always under charged him) , and handed the comb to Baze.

“I still don’t have any hair,” Baze protested, but he took the comb when Chirrut began to try and stick it into his pocket without any shame whatsoever.

"We are not meant to have attachments to Beings, either. It's really more a guideline, than a rule. But my Force-given Destiny is with you, Baze Malbus, so I don't think denying my attraction to you is in the Will of the Force." He stopped them, in the street, and turned toward Baze. "And you are good. You have a curious mind and a strong heart. You are brave against injustice and kind to the weak and wiser than I shall ever be on my own—and you think you are none of these things, so you are humble, too."

Now Chirrut smiled, swaying in place slightly in excitement. "You are also tall, and Alussa tells me you are handsome. So I am not sure what I would do with myself if you were not _also_ my Destiny, because I—" he swallowed, "—I care for you, Baze."

The torrent of words struck Baze dumb, but they didn’t fall on deaf ears. He mostly envied Chirrut—who usually seemed so _sure_ of himself, and who rarely hesitated to take the right action. “Chirrut, I care for you too. And you are also handsome, you know. Strong and smart. Funny.”

Chirrut blushed to hear what Baze thought of him, and his heart grew light: he had confidence in his Destiny, of course, but not confidence in its timing, and he worried that Baze wasn't ready to be with him yet. So hearing Baze say all this comforted him.

Baze hesitated then, he didn’t want to—ruin this moment, or to give Chirrut the impression that he was having second thoughts, he just wanted to understand. “But how are you so sure of any of this? You’re always so certain—more certain than I am about any decision I’ve ever made.”

Chirrut tried a few times to answer this. "Well, the Force tells me.... It's—more than faith. I am lucky, of course, for me it's just listening to a voice that's never wrong. Not a voice. Um."

And then the Force stirred around him, and Chirrut took both of Baze's hands. "Let me show you."

Chirrut led him in silence through some streets and alleyways as if he knew precisely where we was going—though he was in fact only following the will of the Force. They were back at the Temple, suddenly, but the back side of it, perhaps near where they first met, and midway up the stairs, they sat.

"Here, I am certain because the Force has led us to this spot together. We should be here." Chirrut scrambled to sit between Baze's knees, one step below him. "But you must tell me what you see."

Baze was uncertain what he was _supposed_ to see. He looked out over the city, and past it to the landscape beyond. There were tall cliffs, and the remains of statues stuck out of the sand. Massive, ancient things that had been built in ways long forgotten. But the surface was mostly flat, red-brown. In the moonlight, only highlights were visible out there. No lights burned to indicate life; all of that was in the city.

“I see—the desert, and the darkness of night,” Baze began, squinting into the darkness—he believed Chirrut’s determination enough to look for _something_ but it was hard to know what. From here, there was an awful lot of sky. So little artificial light remained on Jedha that the stars were clearly visible, and he turned his eyes up toward them. They were clear and stark, obscured only by the fog of his own breath.

Chirrut settled back, waiting, listening to Baze's heart beating through his warm coat. Soon.

“I’m not sure what—oh!” he began—and interrupted himself. A streak of movement caught his attention, and there. “A falling star.”

Chirrut smiled.

It was just the first one, a second came soon after, and then a third—and then enough to streak the sky with light, and Baze reached down to take Chirrut’s hands, wordless with the magnitude of the picture. He couldn’t begin to explain how any of this was possible, how a blind man would know—how even anyone with sight would know that there’d be a meteor shower clearly visible, here and now. It was the Force, but outside of any way that Baze had ever understood it.

Hearing Baze gasp and go silent, feeling _awe_ in him from the way that the Force helped him to read emotions, sometimes, Chirrut closed his eyes and let it wash over him. Contentment: he was where the Force wanted him to be; he was with whom the Force wanted him to be; he was exactly where and with whom _he_ wanted to be. Baze's hands were warm and gentle, and Chirrut mapped their scars and callouses.

“How did you know?” he asked, wonderingly. And then, he clarified, leaning down to kiss the top of Chirrut’s head. “There’s a meteor shower; hundreds of little streaks of light cutting through the sky silently, like golden fireworks on bodhi day. But _how_ does the Force tell you? I’ve always heard of it as something that’s...beyond knowing, I suppose. Something that’s there, and you accept that it’s there, but it will never touch you in a way you can recognize. So how do you know?”

"You may not believe me," Chirrut warned. "But it's not beyond knowing. It's—I _see_ the Force. Not the way you see, and what do I know, but to me, it feels like sight. The way the Jedi spoke of the Force, they said it surrounds us and binds us, weaves the galaxy together. I can't see the galaxy, but I can see the Force moving in it. Almost like lights swirling around. Or—what I imagine light looks like."

Baze thought Chirrut sounded almost wistful, even as he laughed.

"Sounds crazy, I know,” Chirrut went on. “I don't often tell people this. Mostly I sense—direction, from it. Go here, sit there, talk to this person. I can feel auras of Beings, too. Sometimes, I even see Beings. What the Force looks like inside them, I think. Uh. That doesn't happen often."

He blinked, now, holding Baze's hand in his lap and seeming to look down at it, and admitted very softly: "Only once."

The way he looked up at Baze told him who that was.

Baze absorbed this quietly, moving his fingers softly against Chirrut’s hand, feeling the callouses worn into his palms from the hard work, and ten thousand forms, and the grip of his staff. He watched the shower stream on overhead, a dance of lights, and for the first time Baze could feel—if not a direct connection to the Force, then a proximity to it. A nearness he’d never had before.

“Is it nice to be certain, or terrifying?” Baze wondered, pulling Chirrut closer against him. He still didn’t know if he feels fully comfortable with the idea, if he could as easily accept this notion of Destiny, but he _liked_ Chirrut, felt comfortable and calm with him. That, at least, was a start.

'It's nice,' was on the tip of Chirrut's tongue, and it was what he always told Master Sidhava, and only once had not told Nan-in and Alussa.

"Both," he answered after a brief struggle with himself or the Force. "When you left I—"

 _Whoa, Chirrut, you want to scare him away permanently?_ he asked himself, and shut his mouth with a click, deciding not to mention the visions right now.

"I was, uh, scared," he stammered, hoping Baze wouldn't ask for details. "It's terrifying sometimes."

Baze didn’t miss his hesitation, or the importance of Chirrut’s words. Clearly the Force was big enough to guide him as easily as one might take the hand of a child; as easily as a tidal wave might sweep a child off their feet and carry them away. And maybe the latter was the way _he_ had been guided.

After all, when someone didn’t—or couldn’t—listen, the easiest answer was force, and that was—well, it didn’t share a name for no reason. Baze nodded, accepting the answer, squeezing Chirrut’s fingers.

“I think your order might be right about temptation after dark,” he said, letting the anxious moment dissolve into something lighter.

Chirrut smiled and leaned back into Baze a bit closer. "But the city holds no temptations for me."

He tilted his head back and nosed in for a kiss, catching the edge of Baze's jaw, bristled with stubble. He sighed and stretched. "I am so lucky that my Destiny and Desire are one. I could sleep right here."

“I think you’d regret it in the morning,” Baze said, kissing Chirrut softly in return. “I know I would. And _I_ didn’t spend the last three days scrubbing the floor.”

He got up, then, helping Chirrut up to his feet as well, keeping hold of his hand. “Thank you for bringing me here, Chirrut. And thank you for—saving the rest of them, too.”

Chirrut wondered if saving all of them was the will of the Force, too, or if just saving Baze was—or neither, if it was his own trumped up savior complex and a blind madman's belief that he 'saw' lights.

But Baze was still delighted by the falling stars, and Baze had kissed him, Baze was still holding his hand—and the slaves were free and the Empire embarrassed into doing the right thing. His doubt was momentary.

"Thank you," Chirrut said, in return, since the bow he got halfway through felt stupid in front of Baze. He pressed himself against Baze's warm chest. "Thank you for—being here."

After a pause, he admitted, "We should go back. I—really am tired."

Chirrut relied on Baze's arm to navigate them up the stairs and through the halls to his cell—their cell, now.

"How's your eye? Do you still have the salve?" he asked as he undressed himself for bed—and heard Baze turn on a light.

Baze pulled off his coat now that they were inside, folding it carefully and setting it on one of the shelves Chirrut had for clothes. He followed it with his robe, getting ready to sleep.

“It’s here,” Baze said, recovering it from the low table they’d set it on when Chirrut had last applied it. He pushed the container into Chirrut’s hand, and knelt on the floor in front of him. “I don’t mind telling you I had to try very hard not to swear while she flushed it out, but it seems alright now.”

He reached up to pull off the covering. “Do you think I should try to keep this? She didn’t say how long to leave it on.”

"Well, it could probably stand to breathe. If you sleep on your back we could leave it off." Chirrut washed his hands and then applied the salve, and finished getting ready for bed, waiting. "You lie down first."

All of Chirrut’s thoughts of romance were always quickly brought to a halt by the problem of the very tiny cot. Mostly they slept fine in it together, but it didn't allow for much movement.

Baze settled back, arranging himself to leave as much room for Chirrut as possible—though he’d found that Chirrut was hardly shy of sharing space, and probably could have stretched out to take up a bed three or four times the size of his issued cot. He hardly minded, even as Chirrut settled as much over him as next to him, cheek pressed against Baze’s shoulder so that Baze could put his arm around him, settling his palm against the back of Chirrut’s neck gently.

“Try not to kick so much tonight,” Baze murmured.

"Just get in the center of the bed. I don't kick! Not as much as you snore, anyway," he declared. Chirrut giggled, which made the bed bounce hilariously, and he got up on hands and knees to let Baze re-arrange himself before he re-settled comfortably on top of Baze like a happy pittin.

"Ah, that's better," he said, tugging a blanket up over his shoulders. He was spreading his weight as evenly as he could, and was glad that his natural sleeping position was to sprawl. "See you try to get cold in the night now. I'm not crushing you, am I?"

“No, you’re fine,” Baze assured him, yawning, slinging his arms around Chirrut and finding it was actually surprisingly comfortable—more than he would have expected from sharing such a small space with another full grown body. Especially since Chirrut was so warm, his heartbeat slow and steady  and close enough to Baze’s own to form a comforting echo that lulled him to sleep.

Chirrut of course had excellent hearing, so even Baze's light breathing was tantamount to snoring, and it might have been annoying (it _was_ annoying when Chirrut shared a room with Nan-in), but as it was he actually found it soothing.

Lulled by Baze's breath evening out in sleep, and resting his head just over his heart, Chirrut didn't remember falling asleep so much as he remembered waking up _at_ the Call to Prayer—at which he yelped, stumbled out of bed, dressed hastily, and ran out the door without his staff, so as a result had several odd bruises when he saw Baze later that day (and his prayers mostly were about hoping none of the elders saw him sneaking in just as the last gong rang, but they were heartfelt).


	3. Chapter 3

As the weeks passed, the men and women who were returning home were dispatched on their ways back to their families and loved ones. The group in the temple slowly dwindled, and things began to return to normal, chores returning to regular rotation and meals becoming smaller, easier to manage affairs.   
  
Over the course, Baze finished his recovery, left with only pale scars on his tan skin. His healthy weight returned, and he worked to recover healthy muscle tone. It led him often to the practice room in the temple, the floor padded so the monks could practice without real fear of injuring each other.   
  
He and Chirrut mastered more of the ten thousand forms together, Baze progressing from early beginner to good student quickly—of course he had an excellent teacher. It felt good to test his strength against Chirrut’s finesse in sparring, too, and to make them both better by proving that sometimes the other party wasn’t going to play fair.   
  
Chirrut usually took his revenge out in tickling, so Baze never felt bad about it when he just wrapped his arms around Chirrut’s middle and took their skirmish down to the floor—and it’s during one of these entanglements that he gives in to his desire to kiss Chirrut, their grapple turning from something sporting to something closer.   
  
Chirrut gasped as Baze's attack suddenly took the form of a kiss—he thrilled a little at the thought that they might get caught, even if there wouldn't be any problem if they did, except some light teasing. And Baze seemed to briefly misunderstand the purpose of his pause, but it gave Chirrut an edge—he knocked Baze's arm out from under him and flipped their positions.   
  
"Ha!" Chirrut cried, pinning Baze's shoulders to the ground. "You know close quarters gives the blind guy the advantage, right?" he said, wrapping himself around Baze in an attempt to hold him down. There were ten thousand forms that helped him here, too. And it was... _fun_ to wrestle with Baze like this, he realized, his cheeks already coloring.   
  
Flat on his back, Baze found catching his breath a little more difficult than admitting defeat—which he didn’t mind in this case. Especially with Chirrut getting closer _still_ , their bodies moving together beyond what was really necessary for grappling. It felt good.   
  
“Only if the blind guy is stronger,” Baze said, curling his arms around Chirrut, and pulling him back down for another kiss, arching their bodies together, working his fingers through Chirrut’s short, soft hair, and over the back of his neck with a faint scratch of his nails. “But maybe I want you to have the advantage.”   
  
The whimper that escaped Chirrut was frankly embarrassing, and that did make him stop short, pulling out of the kiss with a gasp. Kissing Baze was— _distracting_ . His fingers and the solidness of his chest made it impossible to focus on anything else, and the Force grew bright and hot and close when they were kissing. _Intoxicating_ was perhaps a good word.   
  
But Baze was giving him banter, and it didn't do to let him think he didn't appreciate it. Baze's voice was sticky and heavy, and Chirrut was sure he felt it in his bones, when they were so close.

"You know I'll never get better if you keep letting me win," he said, and since there was no other recourse, he got his fingertips around Baze's ribs and tickled him to make him fight.  
  
“Chirrut!” Baze yelped, his guard down utterly as Chirrut’s fingers found their way through to his ribs, and he seized for Chirrut’s hands, huffing out a breath that’s half-laugh, catching hold of his wrists, the mood shifting back to playful in an instant.   
  
“Alright,” Baze said, giving his head a  little shake. “If that’s how you want it...”   
  
He got his feet up under himself, bracing, and then threw Chirrut off over his head and onto the mat on his back, picking himself up again.   
  
"Oof!" Chirrut grunted, but he laughed and was almost up by the time Baze dropped onto him. Chirrut spun and locked his legs around Baze, but didn't actually try to flip him this time, as this seemed a _very_ good position for kissing, so Chirrut grabbed Baze by the ears (his ears were wonderfully easy targets, actually) and kissed him hard.   
  
“Ouch,” Baze complained, half-heartedly, right against Chirrut’s mouth. “They may stick out but they aren’t _reins_ .”   
  
He kissed Chirrut anyway, keeping track of his hands this time, easing his own beneath Chirrut’s shoulders, easing their tongues together with less clash than their bodies had been engaged in a few minutes earlier, letting his eyes close and his hands wander between Chirrut’s strong shoulders and the soft mat below them, enjoying the heat that built up, the slow-electric way it seemed to sing his blood awake.   
  
It felt good, echoing back and forth, almost resonant for a very long moment, with Chirrut’s thighs pressing them together at the hips and Baze getting hard in a lazy, slow way.   
  
"Mm," Chirrut said, and this time he was less annoyed at himself for the involuntary noise. He had never kissed anyone before Baze, and he quite liked the sensation, and quite liked what Baze could do with his tongue that made him shiver down to his toes.   
  
He shifted his hold up to the back of Baze's head, running his hands through his hair and tugging on it, as if he could make it grow longer by doing so. His ankles slipped where they were locking him around Baze's hips, and he slid one leg down the back of Baze's thigh, as if to pull them closer together. Baze was filling all his senses, and Chirrut was more than a little proud to feel the growing bulge against his leg where Baze was pressed. At least he wasn't the only one so affected. He just...   
  
"I love your ears," he blurted out when they paused for breath, and only afterwards realized that was a weird thing to say, and laughed, dropping his head back onto the mat. He suddenly wanted to cover his face for some reason.   
  
Baze chuckled, leaning up, letting his demeanor soften. He could sense the urgency in Chirrut, but also—a hesitation. Something in the way he kept breaking at the wavecrest, changing directions. He pulled Chirrut gently against him.   
  
“Do you want to stop?” he asked, gently. “You seem nervous, Chirrut.”   
  
It honestly surprised Baze—but that forward front covered over something deeper, and Baze didn’t want to trample it over.   
  
"Stop? No! Why would I want to stop? I'm not nervous!" Chirrut said, but his voice had gone shrill, and he sat up too fast and clocked the bridge of his nose against some hard part of Baze's face. "Shit! I'm sorry!”

Now Chirrut felt blind and rather stupid, and his eyes were watering. If the Force wanted him to get laid, it certainly wasn't giving him any help now.  
  
Baze grunted, recoiling back a little and lifting his hand to his face, feeling the bump—no major harm done. Chirrut, however, seemed to have hit the soft spot over the bridge of his nose, and Baze reached out to soothe it over with his thumbs, to be certain he hadn’t done any permanent damage.   
  
“Chirrut,” Baze said, steadying him, sitting up without taking his hands all the way off him. “You’ve never done this before. Do you know anything about what you want?”   
  
"Ow, no, I'm fine," Chirrut said, angry with himself. "Of course I've done this before! I've kissed and—and sparred before. I kick your ass, most days," he said morosely. "Today I'm kicking my own ass. I don't know."   
  
Chirrut sighed, flopping back on the mat, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling. "So what if I've never done this before?" he retorted, and then realized how childish he sounded, and threw his arm over his face, in case he wasn't being Dramatic enough. _Ugh_ .   
  
Baze crouched over him, amused by his clear dramatics. He didn’t see it as a weakness, just—part of Chirrut. Reaching out, he took hold of Chirrut’s outflung hand, and brought the palm up to his mouth, gently, to press a kiss there.   
  
“You kick my ass, most days,” he agreed, turning Chirrut’s hand over and pressing his mouth against his knuckles, feeling the strength of his grip against his own hand. “Chirrut, you don’t have to rush. I’d rather you know—what you wanted—than have to flounder around in the—un-enlightened.”   
  
Sitting up, Baze shifted over to sit down next to Chirrut, laying back as well, side-by-side, hands still together. “If it’s nothing more than kissing, that’s alright, too.”   
  
"No, that's _stupid._ Of course I want more! I'm not a—well, okay, I _am_ a monk, but not that kind of—" he laughed, suddenly, turned his face towards Baze and gave him a wry grin like he could see him. "You're mocking me, aren't you?"   
  
“I’m just—I think you should know what exactly you’re getting into,” Baze said—he wasn’t mocking Chirrut. “So you can decide—with full knowledge—exactly how far you want to get into it. I’m not sure your education here at the temple really included a full...”   
  
He gave a helpless gesture. “I just don’t want you to feel nervous about it. I want you to be comfortable; to know what’s going to happen; like when you move from one form to the next because you’ve studied them. Alright?”   
  
"I—I'm _not_ nervous," Chirrut said stubbornly, and huffed. "Just because I haven't done any of this doesn't mean I'm an idiot who doesn't know anything."   
  
“Then just... tell me what you want,” Baze offered, feeling further away than he intended.

Chirrut, however, was withdrawing into himself, and Baze sighed out.  
  
Chirrut sat up—carefully this time, and hugged his knees. Sometimes he felt like his blindness exposed him—he couldn't see if anyone was interrupting them or listening in—and it made him feel vulnerable and that usually made him mad. This entire conversation made him feel vulnerable, which made him mad. "Look, can we go somewhere else?"   
  
Chirrut meant, _to talk about this,_ but he never got to add that, because the bright warmth of Baze’s openness snuffed suddenly out.

Baze got up, retrieved Chirrut’s stick from where it leaned on the wall, and gave the end a tap on the ground to warn Chirrut that it was incoming; a signal developed between them over the weeks, and gently tossed it to Chirrut.  
  
“You can go wherever you like,” Baze said, feeling suddenly he needed to give the man his space. He had put his foot in it, and had no idea how to take it out again, but perhaps a little time for them both to regroup wouldn’t hurt.  “I didn’t—I don’t think you’re an idiot, Chirrut. I’m sorry.”   
  
But, it isn’t enough. The distance needs time to heal. Baze retreated, to gather his thoughts and find a different approach.   
  
It sounded like a dismissal to Chirrut. He had fucked up. He had fucked this entire thing up again, by being a selfish childish stupid little brat.   
  
Baze was leaving.   
  
_Again_ .   
  
Now the vulnerable and mad had turned into hurt and panicky. _Don't panic_ , he coached himself, because the Force blurred and it was hard to tell where anything was.

"N-no, it's fine. You didn't." He'd lost track of Baze, that steady presence in the Force he had come to rely on in all that darkness, and it was disorienting. He missed his echo-box. Where was it? "I'll, um, just—listen, Baze, you don't have to—"   
  
_So now you're going to trap him?_

 _Maybe he doesn't want to be a part of your Destiny, much less have sex with you._   
  
"I think I need to meditate," he finished, lamely. He willed his hands to stop shaking, but Baze was already gone.

...  
  
Baze did his meditation on his feet. He followed the stairs down the temple, and felt how capable and healed his body was to take all those stairs down without agony or losing his breath. Up would be another issue—one for later. He had to _think_ about this, to not really put his foot in it, like he had just now.   
  
He didn’t think of Chirrut like a child, he just—turned practically purple whenever Baze flirted back. It left him lost as to what the man actually wanted. Where was the line? Baze did not want to find it by burning it down or tripping over it. Chirrut deserved _better_ than that.   
  
The idea formed slowly; only by going over the conversations they’d had on the subject. He wasn’t sure if he’d be allowed to borrow the book from the library but—maybe he could find a copy down at the market. It took him some doing; and some shameless _asking_ —to locate a much less fancy copy. The text was bigger, overlaid with a series of dots that he understood was the best way for the blind to read, though the pictures were smaller. It was alright—he intended to read it aloud and one could hardly pronounce an image better if it were bigger.   
  
The vendor packed it in brown flimsi for him, as if he should be ashamed to carry it back. He wouldn’t have been, but it would seem more like a gift that way. And maybe—it would seem more earnest. Less like he intended it as an insult.   
  
Baze felt unable to adequately convey this with words, so he hoped—whispered a little hopefully to the Force—that the gesture would suffice. And then he returned to their quarters to wait, setting the gift on the table, where Chirrut’s hand would encounter it when he set aside the contents of his pockets.


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken Chirrut a long time to move after Baze had gone. He missed his outer robe, but he couldn't find it—he had gotten too used to Baze keeping track of his things for him (like a spoiled brat)—so instead of crawling around on his hands and knees to find it, he left it behind.   
  
He meant to go to the gardens, but he took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the prayer hall. Which was just as good a place to meditate as any. He felt very numb once the panic had exhausted him, so it was easy to slip into a meditation.

The chief benefit in recognizing his own unworthiness was that he now wanted nothing more than to be out of himself.   
  
His brothers and sisters arrived and prayers were said around him, and when they filed out he went with them, not sure he could find the dormitories without help. He made some excuse for Baze to someone who asked, and had to decline someone else's offer to go to the refectory.   
  
Surely Baze wouldn't be gone forever, a rational part of him said as he tapped his way back his room. He never was. That was Destiny. Fact. He had better prepare his apology now. His apolog _ies_. _1\. Thank you for caring about my boundaries, even though I don't know what those are. 2. I'm sorry for making you think you had called me stupid. You didn't, that was me, because I am stupid. 3. I'm sorry for taking advantage of your kindness at every opportunity. 4. I'm sorry I clam up and turn into an asshole when I get scared. 5. You didn't scare me._ _  
_   
Chirrut was somewhere around seven or eight, had slipped off his shoes and washed his face, and was debating whether trying to sleep or trying to meditate would be less fruitful when a voice called his name, and Chirrut, having thought he was alone in his cell, let out an unholy shriek.   
  
Baze froze, reaching for any weapon that would come to hand, certain that some danger had come in after Chirrut that they were both about to fight! He was halfway to his feet, his heart pounding, when he realized he’d just _startled_ Chirrut. He hadn’t been aware that could happen.   
  
“Chirrut,” he said, evenly, clutching his own chest and sitting back down on the bed. “It’s only me. Unless the Force says there’s a ghost in the sink, in which case, I’ll pick my weapon back up.”   
  
He let out his breath in a shaky laugh. “I didn’t mean to startle you—I just thought you’d know I was here.”   
  
"Baze!" Chirrut gasped, and could say nothing else for a long time, mouth flapping as some neighbors rushed in.

"What's going on?"

"I—uh, oh, I—was just startled," he explained to them.  
  
“Sounded like you stepped on a snake,” Nan-in grumbled, but he left the pair alone and herded the other monks away with him.   
  
"Baze, you're—here," Chirrut  said, dumbly, when they were alone again. He was still leaning against the far wall where he had jumped. "I, um, I thought. I fucked up. I thought you didn't want—I'm sorry.”   
  
Then the flood broke: "I'm sorry I don't know what my boundaries are or what I want and I'm sorry I got mad and drove you away thank you for dealing with me and being so kind to me please don't—go—again. Please," he said, voice trailing off to less than a whisper.   
  
“Chirrut,” Baze said, baffled. Had it come across that way? He stood up, shaking his head, realizing that was silly. Reaching out cautiously (after all his ears were still ringing from Chirrut’s yelp, and he supposed he was lucky not to have been walloped), Baze touched Chirrut’s hands with his own.   
  
“I needed a moment to think, that was all,” Baze assured him. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know that clearly. The rest is—it’s alright, Chirrut. It’s okay that you don’t know what you want, or what your boundaries are—that’s what _I’ve_ been trying to say.”   
  
Chirrut gripped Baze's hands tightly, almost desperately. He was really here. And it was stupid to think he might have left, again, just like that, but—

"Well," he said, trying to regain a tiny bit of his composure, "next time don't try to leave when I'm—trying to—to open up."   
  
“I”m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean it that way,” Baze reached up, touching Chirrut gently on the cheek, wishing he could soothe all that anxiety out of him. It was so strange on the usually-confident Chirrut, but—also, it made sense somehow. “I thought maybe we could—try to figure it out together. But in a safe way. So I got you—”   
  
Baze cast around suddenly, and then found it, pressing the paper-wrapped parcel into Chirrut’s hands, and then realizing it was sort of a silly thing to do, expecting a blind man to open a wrapped gift. “It’s— _The_ _Book of Desire._ I thought we could read it together?”   
  
Chirrut was surprised by the paper thrust into his hands, and he ran his fingers over it. _The Book of Desire_?

Of course, he had teased Baze about it, all that time ago, like he had read it, hoping _Baze_ never had. Now the jig was up.

"I—I've never actually—read it. Any of it," he admitted, blushing, but it no longer seemed awful to let Baze know that. The book seemed lovingly wrapped. He wondered if the paper was plain or pretty. He decided he didn't care. "Thank you."  
  
“It’s not all—well, there’s a lot to it,” Baze offered. “Not just about sex, though that’s in there too, but about life.”   
  
"Wait, really?" Chirrut said, somehow relieved. He had thought it was just a bunch of complicated sex poses or acts or something, judging from all the talk. And the Temple library didn't have a copy that was raised so he could read it, and he certainly wasn't going to ever _ask_ someone to read it to him.

Except, maybe, Baze.  
  
“I thought it might give you some ideas,” Baze continued, covering Chirrut’s hands with his own, and then huffing out a nervous laugh. “Without putting any pressure on you. Alright?”   
  
He hoped it didn’t come across as thinking any less of Chirrut—it would put them both on an equal playing field. He thought _he’d_ probably learn something as well; the parts about romance and looking after your partner emotionally—all those things Baze had only gotten to share briefly in the past..   
  
"You never put pressure on me," Chirrut promised, turning his face up, and the bright lines running through Baze began to appear again, and he sighed and smiled. Maybe it really had to do with him all along.   
  
Hooking his fingernails under a folded corner, Chirrut finally tore into the gift and sat on the bed with it.

"Will I be able to read it, too?" he asked excitedly, opening it to run his fingers over the pages.  
  
“I hope so,” Baze said, “the seller assured me the translation in the raised aurebesh was...what did he say? ‘Ninety-eight percent accurate’?”   
  
He wasn’t really sure what that was supposed to mean, but there were clearly raised bumps on the right page, and it looked like they mirrored the same amount of printed aurebesh on the left page.   
  
“It could be funny,” Baze suggested, apologetically. “I don’t know how to read the raised letters, so I couldn’t check.”   
  
Chirrut ran his fingertips over the raised letters, words he could read _on his own_ , and not have to guess! It meant the book was thick, all told, but Chirrut clasped it in one hand and threw his arms around Baze's neck.   
  
"Thank you," he said, and, " _Thank you,_ " he said again, and drew Baze into a kiss.   
  
Baze swept Chirrut up off his feet for the kiss, briefly lifting him from the floor before he set him back down. He teased gently, “Do I have to worry that you’ve told all the other monks I’ve gone for another ‘ten years’?”

Chirrut enjoyed the kiss and then whacked Baze sharply in the arm once he was back on solid ground.

“Hmm,” Baze continued, yawning as he took a step back, moving around Chirrut to the sink in the bathroom so he could wash his face. “And if so, how do we fool them into thinking I’m in my thirties?”  


"You brute!" he laughed. "I was too depressed to even talk to anyone! I was sure you'd be gone for longer and come back in even worse shape than last time!"   
  
“You told a stranger I was gone for ten years,” Baze reminded, drying his face on a towel and stepping back into range. “After I had already returned.”   
  
Chirrut grabbed Baze by the front of his robes and kissed him harder, almost angrily, or perhaps possessively. It felt naughty: he had given up his attachment to possessions when he became a monk, after all. "Baze, will you read with me?" He asked.   
  
Baze _smiled_ into the kiss, easing his arms around Chirrut’s shoulders. “I’d love to.”   
  
He moved them both to sit in the one chair in Chirrut’s room—a tight fit, but that way he could light a candle—it meant he’d be able to read, too, now that the sun had set.   
  
He examined the table of contents. “There’s a lot of chapters.”   
  
Chirrut found himself perched mostly on Baze's lap, but he couldn't complain. He was warm, and he could keep Baze warm this way.

"I still haven't read any of it," Chirrut reminded him, his fingertips exploring the table of contents. "The beginning? There is a Preface. That sounds a bit dull."  
  
“It...describes how the translation came to exist,” Baze said, skimming. “At first there were a thousand chapters, and then five hundred, and apparently, here, a hundred and fifty.”   
  
He let out a sigh. “Never let it be said that monks aren’t thorough when they take it into their minds to write something down. The next part seems to explain...”   
  
Baze read ahead, to get his thoughts together. “The principals of Obedience, Aquisition, and Enjoyment. A practitioner should balance these so that they harmonize together, without clashing...”   
  
Reading on, calmly, Baze outlined the principles that would be covered—these three as far as creating balance within an individual so that balance could be extended without, and therefore meaning a person could be well matched with another. It was calming—not exactly racy literature. Though it did discuss how sex would only be inappropriate if approached thoughtlessly—like an animal might.     
  
Baze hesitated, sliding in a joke to see if Chirrut was still listening. “I think that means you don’t get to moo.”   
  
"Well, damn, I had been practicing," Chirrut laughed, and then dug his elbow against Baze's ribs and wrenched the book from him.

"My turn," he said, and shifted so he was more comfortable in his lap, leaning back so he could whisper the words directly in Baze's ear.   
  
Now they were being instructed on how to order a household, which was most irrelevant for their lives, but it was kind of nice, perhaps, to pretend. It discussed the many luxuries that wealthy households in the galaxy should furnish their homes with, and the kinds of parties they should hold.

"If anything is going to ruin me, honestly, it's this," Chirrut said, pressing a kiss to Baze's neck.  
  
“Would it really?” Baze wondered, arms loosely around Chirrut’s waist, watching his fingers trace over the bumps on the page—nearly invisible except for the shadows they cast in the candle light, or where they came into contrast with Chirrut’s fingertips. “You came from a wealthy family, so you’ve had—probably at least _curtains._ ”   
  
He traced an idle pattern over the ideas printed on his side of the page. “And you chose to give it all up. Is it so alluring to talk about that you want it back?”   
  
"It often is," Chirrut said, letting the book fall closed in his lap as he curled into Baze, kissing across his neck and jaw. "But—now I think that—that you are alluring enough," he whispered.   
  
Chirrut was still holding the book, but was paying it little heed as he melted into Baze's arms, the lines of the Force swirling and swelling around them until it was just as dizzy as before, as that moment on the mat where kissing his Destiny felt like he was closer to the Will of the Force than he had ever been.   
  
"Baze, have you never had curtains?" he asked suddenly, pulling back.   
  
Content with this turn of events—and to kiss Chirrut absolutely as long as he wanted to continue doing it—Baze was caught by surprise by the sudden question, and he had to tip his head back against the chair to laugh so he didn’t do it in Chirrut’s ear. He sounded so indignant.   
  
“No,” Baze chuckled, and then he had to cover his mouth as Chirrut’s expression grew even more stern. Was this some grave sin? He volunteered his best attempt, “I had wooden shutters once. When I lived in the military dorm.”   
  
He kissed Chirrut again, this time soothingly, on the neck. To quell his outrage—over Baze’s inexperience with common household amenities, apparently. His explanation came in good humor, at least. “We were poor as dirt, Chirrut. I left home at sixteen to become a soldier, and eat three meals a day!”   
  
Chirrut set the book down so he could throw both arms around Baze and just _hold_ him. "I want so much for you, my friend," he admitted. "I want you to know every happiness. Four meals a day. Curtains. Warmth and safety and someone to care where you are so much that a few hours seems like ten years."   
  
Chirrut blinked, tucking his head against Baze's neck. "You keep asking me what I want. So far all I know is that I want this."   
  
“Chirrut,” Baze said, to catch his attention. “Before I knew you I didn’t care about happiness. I couldn’t have described it to you as an emotion. I was hardly qualified.”   
  
The soft warmth of Chirrut’s breath against his neck hitched in, and Baze touched his cheek, gently, eased his fingers through Chirrut’s short, soft hair, comforting him. “Since then, I understand happiness. Trust me, everything you’ve given me is worth more than a few curtains—or the nicest curtains in the nicest palace. There are no _things_ that mean as much as this moment.”   
  
"Oh, Baze," Chirrut gasped, near tears with this admission. For a horrifying moment he teetered on the edge of what he would later realize was Love: if Baze asked me to leave the Temple, I would; if I cold give my life to save his, I would; if he were struck with a crippling disease, I would care for him; if my Destiny should be to ever part from him, then the Force will just have to find a more willing servant.   
  
And before he could Fall in Love, Chirrut jumped.

"I love you," he said with a sigh, like it hurt less to let out than to keep in. "There is nothing in the Force that I love more than you."  
  
The words came to Baze like they should have been a surprise, but he found it wasn’t. He’d already known. There was a lot of Chirrut he didn’t bother to hide, worn open and honestly, as if he didn’t even bother with secrets. This was one of them—even if, to be fair, he looked at Baze like he did everything else in the world. The thought—and the words—left Baze smiling.   
  
Chirrut wished he could see Baze's face, to gauge his reaction, but he was equal parts scared of it, too, so Chirrut kissed him to cut off anything he could say. He gripped the back of Baze's head to control the kiss, and slid his leg around Baze's hip until he was straddling him and could move closer, kiss him harder, never have to let him go.   
  
Beneath them the chair creaked ominously, and Baze shifted his grip around Chirrut’s middle, letting him have all the control he wanted but keeping ready to catch both of them. His guard, however, quickly grew lax as Chirrut kissed him first frantically, then desperately, then languidly—until Baze was dizzy with it and his thoughts were consumed—Chirrut was strong enough to pin him there, heavy enough to get his way, and Baze liked that, too. Baze didn’t meet many people as strong as him. Liked the planes of muscle and rough robe or soft skin under his wandering hands.   
  
Enough time had passed when Chirrut let him catch his breath at last, that he had to turn his dizzy thoughts practically inside out to remember what they’d been talking about when he started. It’s like reaching down into the bottom of the coin-bag and inverting it to find the last contents. The answer comes so instinctively that it would scare Baze in a more rational instant, but now, dazed, it rattles out into the palm of the world in his voice. “I love you, also.”   
  
Chirrut beamed, knowing he had done the right thing: the Force couldn't love, but Baze could, and _did_. Chirrut smiled—a heartfelt, goofy-looking thing that wasn't for the benefit of the sighted but was just an expression of how happy he was.

"I want to touch you," he said, the pads of his fingers following the line of Baze's skull forward to his jaw and up over his face. "Want to feel what you look like when you are—happy. Are you happy?"

“I am.”   
  
Chirrut still couldn't believe that: how Baze didn't know happiness until he met him—though Chirrut, if he thought about it, probably didn't, either. So he mapped that happy face, the chin and kiss-swollen lips, his adorable nose and wise eyes. Maybe it was just in his mind's eye, but he almost thought that the Force left behind the image of the face patterned by fingertips, and Chirrut smiled when he was done.   
  
"Beautiful," he said, and reached for the ties of Baze's robe, pushing the robes off his shoulders without preamble.. "I want to touch the rest of you.”   
  
Baze chuckled, shifting—something about Chirrut touching his face was soothing, but then there was the rapid translation (as usual) of words into action and Chirrut was pushing his clothes off.   
  
“I think we’re skipping a few chapters,” Baze teased, but Chirrut was the one sitting in _his_ lap, with the opportunity to stop whenever he liked, so he just kept playing gently without really protesting Chirrut’s wandering hands. There were plenty of scars for them to find, anyway. “Enriching the soul to enrich the relationship...making sure you wash your hair with nice smelling shampoo so that your lover isn’t offended...”   
  
He caught Chirrut’s hand as it darted for his side, laughing, kissing his cheek. “ _Definitely_ not tickling anyone you hope to inspire lust in.”   
  
Chirrut giggled, caught, and then tried to pull a straight face, with very little success. "Is that really in there? Maybe some people _like_ being tickled, maybe it turns them on a little. You don't know."   
  
Still grasping each others hands in this minor struggle, Chirrut surged forward to kiss Baze again, and his aim was not so bad this time. The sensation of hips sliding forward against Baze was a good one, and he did it again, little rocking motions as they kissed, and he giggled again. "I don't mind skipping chapters," he murmured.   
  
“What if there’s a test later?” Baze wondered, lifting Chirrut’s hands to his shoulders and then untangling their fingers, reaching down to steady his hips—not still them, just give him the leverage for real friction. “I won’t let you copy off my page...”   
  
"A test?!" Chirrut squawked, laughing until he couldn't kiss any more. He imagined trying to copy off of Baze's paper, which, no matter how much the Force told him, he couldn't do—not to mention how ridiculous it was to think of taking a _test_ on the Book of Desire.   
  
"Baze, you—" he spluttered, but pressed his forehead against Baze's, still laughing as he traced fingertips over muscles and old scars and drew him into another kiss. “You make me laugh.”   
  
For a while, they traded kisses, in no real rush. Baze let his hands wander, sliding in under the front of Chirrut’s robe to walk his hands over the defined muscles of his stomach, and over his sternum, feeling his heartbeat behind it—but this was calm. A strong, steady beat that showed no hint of his earlier nerves.   
  
Chirrut shivered, and gasped once and giggled again. "You're not _very_ good at tickling." 

“Am I supposed to be?” Baze wondered, idly, watching Chirrut’s expression change as Baze’s hands moved over his chest. “Was what you said earlier about being turned on a hint?”   
  
He pushed the pads of his fingers over one of Chirrut’s nipples then, instead of really tickling him, and the edge of his thumbnail afterward, then he had to chuckle.   
  
Chirrut gasped again, his hips bucking forward of their own accord, and the friction as Baze moved against him was delicious.

“Must be in one of those chapters we skipped,” Baze muttered, shifting his hips up. 

"Shit," he breathed, startled by that sensation, and laughed again, but breathlessly, a little unsure. "Baze, I—I want you to—"

Here Chirrut  faltered, annoyed with himself again, not sure how to ask for what he wanted. Maybe he should have read the whole thing book properly first. Wouldn't be the first time he was impatient with his lessons. "Can you show me...more?"  
  
Reaching up, Baze curled his other hand around the back of Chirrut’s neck, pulling their smiling mouths together briefly before he answered.   
  
“We’d better get out of this chair before we go any further,” Baze suggested, adjusting his hold and standing up while holding on to Chirrut—whether or not he was ready. “Or we’d wind up on the floor sooner rather than later.”   
  
The cot wasn’t very promising, either, but it gave him a place to sit Chirrut down, and he eased down onto his knees on the floor, reaching up to ease Chirrut’s robes off his shoulders and down off his arms, though he left his belt to keep it fastened at the waist.   
  
Chirrut shivered, twitching at each touch and still laughing. The sensations were overwhelming.

"Sorry, sorry, I—please don't stop," he said, leaning in for a kiss and clinging to Baze's robes which hung around his waist. "You can tell me what to do,from the chapters we skipped. Otherwise I'll just—"

He wasn’t sure what. Explore? Chirrut ran his fingertips up Baze's chest to circle one nipple with the pad of his thumb.  
  
“Relax,” Baze assured him, kissing his mouth to ease his stammering. “Just touch wherever you want to, get comfortable with the idea. A lot of sex is just—touching.”   
  
He figured when Chirrut got impatient enough, he’d take his own initiative, and in the meantime he could take things as slow as he wanted. Baze pressed his mouth to the side of Chirrut’s neck, licking a heated stripe against his skin, huffing out a hot puff of air as Chirrut’s touch grew more bold.   
  
Baze let his mouth trace the line of Chirrut’s collarbone, tasting sweet and salt; clean skin. He could feel the way Chirrut’s pulse changed, and he waited, mouth pressed against the flat, thin skin of his sternum until he caught his breath and began to relax before Baze sat back, caught hold of Chirrut’s hands, pressed his mouth against the palms of each in turn, then the wrists, then at the elbow, his teeth—not sharp, just a scrape.   
  
"Kriff, Baze. Fuck,"" Chirrut finally swore at each of several new and mind-blowing sensations. He knew distantly he should be reciprocating, but, first of all, _how_ , and second of all _how_ when Baze was doing these wickedly wonderful little things with his mouth?? It was hard enough to form a coherent thought, much less make his fingers do—anything! He, whose fingers were his _eyes_ !   
  
Chirrut squirmed, impatient, where he sat, and began to wonder if Baze was teasing him, because this was—was thrilling, but _uncomfortable_!

"Baze. _Please_ . More, damn it, would you touch my cock already?" he said, and then tensed and recoiled, and clapped both hands over his mouth. "No, wait, was that the wrong thing? Am I supposed to do that to you? Is that too soon? Fuck!"   
  
Baze looked up at him, leaning his arm over Chirrut’s thigh and resting his chin on his upturned palm to look up at his mortified expression. Clearly he was enthusiastic, just not very—practiced. “No, it’s not wrong. Is that what you want?”   
  
He slid his other hand over Chirrut’s opposite thigh, pushing aside the extra folds of his robe so he could push the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of Chirrut’s pants and against his skin as he traced the line of muscle, up and in, watching Chirrut’s expression for any sign of hesitation.   
  
“That question might be on the test,” Baze prompted, waiting for his answer—and his permission—before he closed those last few centimeters.   
  
"Fuck, yes, Baze," Chirrut grunted, fumbling with the ties to his trousers. Baze's hands on him were warm and gentle and felt _so_ good. Another giggle escaped, for some reason. "Yes."   
  
He was light-headed with how good everything felt, how his body was _singing_ wherever they touched. It really was like all the poetry said—except this was more urgent. Chirrut felt unexpectedly needy about the whole thing.

"I want you naked, too. I want—can you _just_ —" he whined, tugging Baze closer, closed his hand over Baze's hand over his cock and rubbed impatiently.   
  
It wasn’t eloquent, but Baze didn’t have to be asked—or demonstrated to—twice. Baze sat up higher on his knees and curled his free hand around Chirrut’s head to lean their foreheads together as he began to stroke over Chirrut’s cock, finding some satisfaction in the way it seemed to render him speechless. He let Chirrut set the pace, following the gestures of the hand wrapped over his own. This close, he couldn’t miss any little sound, or the way Chirrut’s expression changed in pleasure. It was intoxicating, easy to lose himself in the soft sounds (and firm grip encouraging Baze to rub firmly right over the head of Chirrut’s cock, right where it must feel the best), and let the rest of the moment stretch out.   
  
Chirrut's breath was coming in quick gasps. "Baze, Baze," he said, curling his fingers into his short hair and kissing him sloppily. "Yeah—yeah, feels—" And then Baze did _something_ with his fingertips on the underside of his cock and his hips jerked and he came quite suddenly, body locking in a silent scream.   
  
It wasn't as though Chirrut had never touched himself before, but it was _different_ like this, with Baze's hand, with Baze with him, loving him. It rendered all his senses electrified, over-stimulated, and once he caught his breath all he wanted to do was like in Baze's arms and kiss him until time stopped. "Force,"Kriff. Force. _Baze._ "   
  
Baze let him relax, laying Chirrut back on the cot, shedding his own robes and crawling up afterward as Chirrut caught his breath, pulling him into his arms and pressing a kiss against his cheek. Letting Chirrut come down in his own good time, bodies warm together.   
  
“Alright?” he asked, sounding satisfied with his own efforts. “I think now we’re obligated to notify our parents of our cohabitation...”   
  
He laughed too, chuckling—he felt light. Easy. Comfortable. Chirrut was so relaxed this way—finally—maybe it was worth keeping in mind for the times he seemed very wound up.   
  
"How dare you," Chirrut gasped like he couldn't get enough air. "I'm still a virgin until you come, too. You can't leave me like this."

He was distantly aware that there was a mess between them, on their skin and on their robes, but he couldn't care less about it. Now he had Baze in his arms, and Chirrut wanted his hands all over him. Now that he was naked, Chirrut discovered Baze had a very squeezable ass, and he giggled. "Oh Force you have the perfect ass. I guess I haven't squeezed too many, though."  
  
“You have sharp fingernails,” Baze observed, mildly, as Chirrut dug them into his ass like spurs, causing Baze to arch against him with a faint hiss. He looped his own arms under Chirrut’s around his back, rubbing his shoulders. “It’s not a cantaloupe!”   
  
"No, you're right, it's much more fun to squeeze!" Chirrut laughed, fingers going up Baze's sides and down his thighs. He kissed Baze's brow, and his cheek and down his neck to his shoulder.   
  
Baze was laughing, though. Comfortable. He laid back and let Chirrut explore, with far more patience than Chirrut himself had displayed when Baze made his efforts, and he pressed the thumb of his sticky hand against his own mouth, considering. Not as bad as it could be, he thought. Normally he didn’t really care for the taste, but—well, better than wiping it in the sheets.   
  
The corner of Chirrut's mouth turned up, and he paused. "Did you just do what I think you did?" he said, and stole another kiss, tasting bitter musk on Baze's tongue

"Mm, I think you've skipped several _more_ chapters," he accused gently, and then sat up and swung his leg over Baze's lap.   
  
“I read the outline,” Baze answered, easily, humming into Chirrut’s kiss. “And I just did what you think I did.”   
  
"Well, you're in charge of cleanup. I can't see, after all. Conveniently." Chirrut grinned.   
  
Baze stretched out, metering his breath as he ran his hands down Chirrut’s sides, and let him settle down—a heavy, satisfying weight, and he traced his hands over Chirrut’s thighs, now enjoying a leisurely chance to feel the strength there, and the soft spaces behind his knees, where he could hook his first two fingers in and feel the gathered sweat.   
  
Chirrut giggled at these soft, teasing touches, no longer urgent—and he made some explorations of his own, tracing more muscles, more scars, lightly brushing Baze's cock but not getting a good hold on it.   
  
“One of these days you’ll let me take my time...” Baze lamented, wiggling his fingers against these vulnerable places and watching Chirrut go to pieces and then smoothing his hands over Chirrut’s bare hips, back over his ass (more gently than Chirrut had seized Baze’s, anyway), before he scoffed. “This is impossible. You could bounce a credit.”   
  
"I know. My ass is not as good as yours," Chirrut concluded. "But that's your problem, not mine! And if you're going to want to take your time, you can do that with someone who's not making up for twenty-seven years of celibacy."

Without any warning, Chirrut grabbed Baze's cock and— "Oh! Two hands!" he yelped in delight, stroking him as well as he knew how, which was with more enthusiasm than finesse.  
  
“It’s a plenty good—” Baze began, before Chirrut had seized him in some kind of double-fisted grab that left _him_ yelping a little—more in surprise at the over-eager hold than any genuine pain, his hands moving to cover Chirrut’s and guide a little more gently.   
  
“One—is—usually fine,” he said, gentling Chirrut’s grip, adjusting his hold, and winding their fingers together. “Like you’d touch yourself—I’m pretty sensitive.”   
  
"Sorry," Chirrut said with a sheepish grin. "Hand and a half, maybe?"

He moved one hand down to cup Baze’s balls and loosened his grip with his other hand. "I'm just exploring now, is that okay?"

It might make up for how unpracticed he was, give him some time to figure out a technique.  
  
“Please,” Baze said, removing his own hands so they wouldn’t be in the way. “It’ll be easier if you’re comfortable...”   
  
He tailed the words with a groan, much enjoying Chirrut’s gentler touch, relaxing. Chirrut was a whirlwind, so he was sure it wouldn’t be long before he figured out where he was going. But a little encouragement—especially as Chirrut cupped over his balls in a way that made his blood feel electric—wouldn't hurt. _  
_   
"Mm. I like to hear you," Chirrut said, as if it weren't obvious this was really the only way he could tell if he was doing anything remotely right. He mapped Baze out to his satisfaction, just exploring with fingertips before closing a fist around him again, getting a low groan as a reward.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Baze sighed, groaning out at how good it felt. _What was that about skipping chapters?_

"Uh, okay, tell me what you like," Chirrut said, working up to a quick pace, the way _he_ liked it, and then, out of curiosity more than anything, bent over to lick the slit, already beading with precome. "Hm. Well, it's not terrible. I may need to try more to decide, though."

Baze pulled in a quick breath at the touch of Chirrut’s tongue; mostly how unexpected it was; how warm and velvet-soft. Baze reached up then, hooking one hand behind Chirrut’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss, to ease the taste of himself over his own tongue, before he quickly pulled back with a grimace.  
  
“I still don’t like the taste,” he admitted, rocking his hips up to Chirrut’s strokes. “A little slower, I like the way it feels as it’s building... yes, _just_ like that...”   
  
Baze muffled his groan against Chirrut’s shoulder, as Chirrut stroked his cock between them—and this way he could hang onto Chirrut, could broadcast how good it felt by changes in his grip around Chirrut’s back, or how fast his breath was against Chirrut’s skin. It felt—hot, electric—a quick slide down from there before he raised his voice in warning— “Chirrut—!”

The changes in Baze's breath and grip were as beautiful as anything Chirrut could ever experience, and the way he said his _name_ when—   
Release took him up over the edge and down, pouring out of him and between both their bellies until Baze had to spare a thought for the fact that they were going to have to make do with whatever was left of the wash-water in the basin. He pulled Chirrut tight against him anyway, comfortable to catch his breath.   
  
"Oh, I love you, I love you, my friend," Chirrut whispered, kissing him softly, feeling tension run out of his body and—and out of his mind, too. Baze’s aura cleared and sharpened for him: at peace. Chirrut brought his hand to his mouth to taste, and hummed a little, grinning. It was _filthy_ , but he kind of liked it.   
  
"Well, I've talked my way out of worse laundry situations," he offered, but ignoring the mess, he settled over the top of Baze, continuing to kiss him softly.   
  
“We’ll make a go of cleaning up,” Baze laughed, leaning up into the kiss. “In a minute.”   
  
But for now, they could catch their breath together, bodies naked and pressed close—not for the first time, but for the first time with no clothes between. Baze could loop his arms around Chirrut and feel the warmth that seemed to be the greatest part of his core. In contrast to Baze, his back was smooth, only scarred here and there with the little faults of living. He reached down a little further, pushing the pad of his index finger into the dimples at the top of Chirrut’s ass.   
  
“What do you think?” Baze asked. “Less intimidating than you thought, right?”   
  
" _Yeah_ , I liked it," Chirrut gasped earnestly, and yelped and giggled again as Baze's touch sent a delicious shiver down to the balls of his feet. He liked this position the best, lying chest to chest on top of Baze, tucking his face against Baze's neck—arms and legs sprawling.   
  
"I'm a bit hot and thirsty now—don't get the washing water and the drinking water mixed up!" he laughed as he swung unsteadily to his feet, wiping his hands on the robes that lay on the floor before pouring a mug of water and returning to the cot.   
  
Baze also got up, recovering a rag from the pile, and wetting it in the ewer of wash water—glad he’d washed his face already. He washed his hands, briefly, and then returned to the cot to mop Chirrut off, sitting down next to him.   
  
“This is why I can’t understand how you don’t survive without updated plumbing,” Baze muttered, finding that Chirrut was absolutely a _mess_ from his chest to his hips. It was almost endearing. “I guess I only have myself to blame...”   
  
He leaned in to kiss Chirrut’s cheek.   
  
"Just have to swallow it all next time," Chirrut suggested, with a broad grin, but he moved to allow Baze to clean him up.

"Thank you," he added quietly, grateful, and turned to meet the kiss.   
  
"I think—" Chirrut began, then stopped, unsure how to say what he wanted to say. "I resent the fact that you are my—Destiny. I want to think we could love each other without being Destined for it. Just you. Just me."

He bit his lip. "But sometimes I say blasphemous things. I should say instead that isn't it wonderful how the Force brought us together, for a great purpose?" Chirrut chuckled. "I suppose we could have hated each other. I'm glad that didn't happen."  
  
“I don’t resent it at all,” Baze said, surprised by Chirrut’s words—he always seemed to be the most determined when he spoke about Destiny. “But then again, I don’t think I—I don’t think I feel ‘destiny’ like you do. The way you say it now you suggest it like it’s bigger than we are.”   
  
Baze stood up to mop himself off, and then tossed the damp, dirty rag on top of their pile of dirty clothes. Perhaps he’d take a shift in the laundry in the morning, just to spare everyone else. It did smell pretty—pungent.   
  
“But it can only be as big as just you, just me,” Baze said, reaching out, resting his hand first on Chirrut’s shoulder, and then sliding his palm down over his heart. “You could have shot me that first night, but you were big enough not to. The Force doesn’t get credit for everything.”   
  
Chirrut spluttered, and then laughed. "Baze, I wasn't going to _shoot_ you!" he cried, reaching up to grasp Baze's arm and tug him down beside him. "I was hoping you'd let me past—and you didn't—and I still didn't shoot you."

“You aimed a gun at me,” Baze reminded, chuckling, allowing himself to be pulled down. “I’m not giving you a pass that you weren’t going to shoot me because you’re blind. I’ve seen you shoot people anyway.”

He rested his head on Baze's shoulder. "I'd like it to be just you, just me. And whatever the Force has in store for us—we meet it together?"

Chirrut hadn't meant to key up his voice at the end into a question, but he did, squeezing Baze's hand.  
  
Things rounded around to serious again, and Baze leaned into Chirrut, squeezing his fingers in answer. “I can’t think of anything we probably couldn’t take on.”   
  
Chirrut smiled and slid his head back, begging for a kiss. "Me, neither," he said. (His visions didn't count.)

"Together," he murmured, and jostled Baze gently with his elbow. "Ready for bed? Or more reading?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.  
  
“You’re the one who has to get up at the first bell in the morning,” Baze said, yawning. He wrapped his arms around Chirrut’s middle and relaxed back onto the bed, grabbing the blankets. “Don’t forget your robes. I don’t think I could stand for Master Sidhava to give me all those reproachful looks.”   
  
Chirrut sighed. "You're right, of course. Lie down?" he asked, and perched atop him, tugging blankets over them both. "You know, we might switch to a bedroll, eventually," he suggested, as they shifted and fussed until they got comfortable. Somehow, it wasn't as comfortable as it was right after orgasm, and the thought made Chirrut laugh.   
  
"Thank you for the book, Baze Malbus. And for your kindness. And for not leaving me." He snorted, pressing his face to Baze's chest. "For ten years."   
  
“Only five,” Baze muttered, yawning, relaxing. Right now he didn’t care what they were sleeping on—he found it very easy to fall into synch with Chirrut’s breathing. The first bell was going to come too soon no matter what, he thought, when everything here was warm and dark and comfortable.

**Author's Note:**

> ****  
>  [ 69\. Eating the Blame](http://www.ashidakim.com/zenkoans/zenindex.html)
> 
> Circumstances arose one day which delayed preparation of the dinner of a Soto Zen master, Fugai, and his followers. In haste the cook went to the garden with his curved knife and cut off the tops of green veetables, chopped them together, and made soup, unaware that in his haste he had included a part of a snake in the vegetables.
> 
> The followers of Fugai thought they had never tasted such great soup. But when the master himself found the snake's head in his bowl, he summoned the cook. "What is this?" he demanded, holding up the head of the snake.
> 
> "Oh, thank you, master," replied the cook, taking the morsel and eating it quickly.


End file.
